Eloise
by The Zazu
Summary: A Muggle tape recorder captures the stream-of-consciousness of Eloise Midgen, a perfectly average witch. postwar, multiple chapters
1. primary recording

**Eloise  
**i. primary recording

-

My name is Eloise, do you remember me? (_Pause_) I didn't really expect so, honestly. It must have been because I was whisked away from Hogwarts the beginning of my fifth year. (_Pause_) Or… or, because I was a bit of the wallflower in school. So many of the students at Hogwarts had such distinct personalities, that the idea of me, a perfectly average witch, tended to fade at the edges. I am sure if you question the others in my class, or even my house, they will answer with a certain vagueness, sensing some sort of familiarity but not grasping it. Alternately, after a few minutes of thought, they might brighten up considerably and laugh robustly: Oh, Eloise _Midgen_. Hufflepuff, right? Tried to curse off her acne and instead lost her nose? Madam Pomfrey had to fix her up straight, though I think her nose is a little crooked 'cause of it… And, somehow, the conversation would move on to something else entirely.

(_Loud meowing_) Nicholas, shh, I'm busy. (_Voice faint. Silence. Meowing again, more insistent. Voice again, indistinct._) Nic, can you wait for your dinner? –Oh, don't get on my desk, you needy cat – NIC! The recorder, don't—(_Crashing sound, soft static, voice still indistinct_) For the love of God! That was _new_! Go, Nic!

Sorry 'bout that; Nicholas Flamel, my cat, is a devilish creature at times.

I should probably explain what I'm doing. See, I've never been much for journals. At school, there was risk of people rummaging through my things. Admittedly, I did have bad acne then and certain members of our lovely community enjoyed reminding of that particular fact. Plus, there would have been that off-chance that my mother would have found it. She, upon reading my then adolescent, angst-consumed thoughts, would have shipped me promptly to the mental facilities at St. Mungo's for mind therapy. Both situations would have proved embarrassing.

My situation is a bit different now. It is the new century now – February 2nd, 2000. It's been nearly two years since an apocalyptic future was averted… I think. My memory is a bit fuzzy. I am currently employed by the British Library, cataloguing and putting books away and just generally doing what I am told. It is an interesting job and there are many fascinating pieces of literature. I apologise for being vague; yes, I am a librarian and no, I'm not a frumpy spinster yet, though I do have a cat. Still, even in such a bustling city, life is a little lonely for me and talking to this audio recorder is rather relaxing. Plus, I can hardly rewind and re-tape what I'm saying – it takes a lot more effort than when I write, where I would be tempted to erase my words and make them more appropriate.

(_Pause, deep breath_) No, I'm not living in the Wizarding World. I'm a Muggle now, but I don't consider myself in that insulting term; I am a normal, human being.

As I mentioned before, I was whisked away from Hogwarts the beginning of my fifth year. To put in more understandable terms, I was a year below Harry Potter and his class. My family, you could say, was hard-core Pureblood, but the kind that knew the normal, err, I mean _Muggle_ world. Pa, a Healer, specialised in non-traditional methods, or non-magical methods.

In any case, fearful of You-Know-Who (_Voice quiets a little at the name_), our family and many relatives relocated from a spacious joint-family house in the Wizarding countryside to a more crowded flat in London until we adjusted to society and got jobs to get flats of our own. Pa became a physician. Strange, isn't it? In the beginning I abhorred it. I wanted to go to Diagon Alley and look through the wicked bookstores and apothecaries. I wanted to cast spells and brew potions in Hogwarts. I was a perpetually furious fifteen-year-old, declaring to my aunts and uncles that they were cowards and needed to go back! Face the danger!

Needless to say, I was just grounded a lot. This didn't do much, as I still had my novels and could play Solitaire on our gigantic computer.

It wasn't to say that we stopped using magic. Mum used it to tidy the house. Gramps couldn't adapt to the less-exciting chess board and loved to scare the bloody hell out of his challengers with the Wizarding Chess pieces. He covered things over by saying micro-robots controlled the pieces and strangely, his partners always accepted it. I still am surprised that the Department of Muggle Relations or whatever the hell they call it didn't jump in then.

And yes, magic still was a solid part of my education. Wrinkly great-great-aunt Mildred was my tutor. She had been the Arithmancy Professor at Hogwarts, before Vector, and still was dreadfully sharp in old age. I drifted between intense dislike and uneasy amiability with her. I did learn a lot though – I finished the course materials through seventh year and some advanced topics in the two following years. But I did other important things.

I received my driver's license. I voted in my first election last year, when I turned eighteen. I applied for my first job around the time we moved here, working as a barista in this dank, but somehow avant-garde, coffee shop. Last year, I got my job with the British Library. Needless to say, my identification papers said I was twenty rather than eighteen. Since I was a fast learner, age didn't really matter.

Oh, yeah, the War occurred in the Wizarding World. And ended.

May, 1998. Breakfast. Mum quietly mentioned that Hogwarts had been virtually demolished, but Harry Potter defeated You-Know-Who with this special Elder Wand that was his own, but wasn't. And many had died and Kingsley Shacklebolt was the new Minister of Magic.

She had to repeat another time, a decibel louder for her dearly deaf older brother, Edward.

Pa looked up, seeming relieved. He asked who told her. Mum replied that Aleythia Vector had owled her. Professor Vector was a good friend of the family, see.

Then Gramps complained that the toast was too dry and he needed another piece. The conversation was ended.

(_Pause_, _soft static_) So there's that. How I am here today. A witch in the Muggle World. A little lonely, but still happy and doing well enough. Frankly, I didn't have many friends at Hogwarts other than Aleythia, so I don't mind as much not being near anything magic-related and I haven't tried to go back. (_Sad silence, mumble_) Go back to what..?

(_Dinging noise in background_) My banana bread must be done, now. I think I'll take a break. All this talking is making me think too much. (_Loud meowing. Eloise's voice sounds distracted_) Besides, Nicholas has to be fed. Until then.

--

Author's Note: I know I shouldn't be writing other fics when I have a few in the works, but I really took to Eloise somehow. The idea of maybe a Plain Jane who is just average, nothing particularly special, and just likes the way she is. There will be other Harry Potter characters of course, later. Do feel free to leave your thoughts, comments, and encouragement. :)

As a side note, I have received several messages to continue _Trials_, the Lavender story, so I am currently working on that chapter. Thanks for the wait!


	2. student reviews

**Eloise  
**ii. student reviews

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, always considered herself a hard-working , steadfast sort who would attack a single goal and achieve it. She was prompt; letters were quickly answered, probationary notices mailed, complaints addressed. Minerva McGonagall was prompt in every single sort of way – unless it came to reading seventh-year student reviews. Let there be a correction: seventh-year student review from the Hogwarts Class of 1997-1998.

Yes, let that be noted. Two years after the fall of Voldemort, Headmistress McGonagall was still reading the seventh-year student reviews. These, actually, had been completed with the impressions from the student's sixth year, as their final year had been especially tumultuous. There was something particular about reading these various reviews that struck a certain chord within her. Reading these reflections of the professors was a poignant experience. There were a few names always seen: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ronald Weasley, so forth. But there were other names, less well-known, with just as much importance. That year, many of the professors had put a special effort to give their students individual identities. Many of them had also slipped in reviews for much younger students… much younger students who left the world after a painfully short stay.

Thus, it is not a surprise that McGonagall always feels a sharp sadness when reading these papers.

That evening, the Headmistress brews herself a cup of strong tea to steel her through the next pile. She is almost thankful that Aleythia Vector is next. The Arithmancy professor is notorious for her brevity and accuracy. Vector is so adept at reading people, that McGonagall often wonders if the witch is a Legilimens. McGonagall starts turning the pages before she gets too distracted, quill poised to dash off her signature.

_Bones, Susan_: _Methodical, cautious. Hesitant to take risks, but able to solve the more difficult problems in the class. Pays attention and not afraid to ask for help. 4._ Just like her aunt.

_Boot, Terry: Not particularly suited for the class, though enthusiastic. Made eyes at Padma Patil (also Ravenclaw) for the time I had him. 2._ They are married now, McGonagall thinks.

_Granger, Hermione: Bright, effusive, perhaps a bit too over-eager. Is sensitive of her heritage and thus overcompensates for this supposed "flaw" through academics. Answers questions well, but Arithmancy just seems like a class to her, not something practically applicable. Frankly, if she had done a bit more research, it probably would have assisted her in this last year. 4. _ Agreed.

McGonagall nods in agreement and signs the reviews. She continues reading; there are not many left. For a few students, Aleythia simply circled a number between one and five. One represented terrible, whereas five represented exceptional.

Minerva hasn't seen a five yet. She reads the next name.

_Midgen, Eloise_. The Headmistress frowns, unable to place a face with the name. The name itself sounds familiar and she is sure she has seen it somewhere, but she simply can't place it. Still frowning, she begins reading the strangely lengthy review. 'Or at least lengthy for Vector,' she corrects herself mentally.

-

_ At the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, an 'O' represents the epitome of excellence. It signifies that a student has done exemplary work in a particular subject and has good mastery of the material. 'O' is for Outstanding, some like to say. But that can be incorrect, see. Occasionally, 'O' means Ordinary, and yes, that is perfectly fine.  
Eloise Midgen. Minerva, as you read this, you are probably trying to place a face with a name. Eloise can, in a sense, be faceless, for she genuinely represents all the faces trying to make a mark at Hogwarts. She represents all the students who are just, well, average in different ways, whether it be ambition, academics, or looks._

_ Ordinariness can be a virtue. So often, in this unique world we live in the idea of normality is lost; everything must be perpetual action, perpetual stimulation._

_ Eloise, when I first met her, was a second-year who ambitiously attempted Arithmancy, a class generally offered in the third year. No, she wasn't a brilliant student that year, but she possessed a certain, quiet tenacity that I grew to appreciate. Ms. Midgen would never be the first to answer a question as Ms. Hermione Granger might, but she would slowly work at it until she thoroughly understood the concept._

_ She came often to my office to ask a question or for additional help. While some may think is a very ordinary, obvious action – I beg to differ. Rarely do students ask for assistance outside of the class and thus, it was an extraordinary action. We struck up a rapport and met for an afternoon tea once a week. Slowly, before my eyes, I saw what people might think as an unmemorable girl transform into a true individual: a girl with a face and fears and everything else that makes us unique regardless of what we are labeled. I saw her run into my office, bursting into tears, because everyone was teasing her for her acne and even blowing off her nose with a spell. I saw what common human cruelty could hurt such nice girl who never did anything to anyone._

_ Ms. Midgen was pulled out from Hogwarts her fifth year, I believe, right at the cusp of when the trouble in the Wizarding World began. Some may think this cowardly of her family, but also think how hard it must have been to adapt to the Muggle world. Think of how hard that decision must have been._

_ In summary, Eloise received an 'EE' in Arithmancy her third year and then an 'O' her fourth. She was one of the few students who really made me feel teaching was worth it. Thus, she is a 5._

-

She briefly remembers the faceless girl with the acne accident, and her heart swells with a certain, unidentifiable compassion. For once, the Headmistress feels strangely uplifted from reading. Almost happily, she neatly puts away the Arithmancy student reviews and quietly sips her tea for the remainder of the evening. McGonagall knows the feeling, the feeling that all her hard work has been worth it. And suddenly, she thanks Merlin that she has such a wonderful school with such wonderful – and ordinary – students.

--

Author's Note: I call this a "quiet" chapter, because it's peaceful. It's dedicated to all the wonderful teachers I had through the school years, who really saw me as "something more" and thought I had limitless potential. Thank you everyone for the lovely reviews! I hope, once again, everyone can share their thoughts. Peace.


	3. it's elementary, eloise

**Eloise  
**iii. it's elementary, eloise

-

Me, again. It's been a week or two since my first recording, I confess, but it's with good reason, I promise! Nothing interesting has occurred, really. And if nothing even happened, what is there to record, right? (_Pause_, _then a laugh_) I have a tendency to justify things. Sorry. It's a terrible habit. A couple interesting things happened today, surprisingly; thus, here I am, narrating the only excitements of my normal life.

Mum visited today. Before I continue, I ought to give some background. Which, if I think about it, doesn't make any sense as no one is going to listen to this excluding Nicholas. (_Faint meowing. Whispers._) I think he heard his name. Thankfully, I lured him away with a new toy and locked the door. I feel terribly Slytherin at the moment. (_Amused chuckle_) Moving on, yes? Mrs. Elaine Midgen, my darling mother, is an unusually tall woman – taller than my father – with straight, sternly cut hair and an impeccably erect carriage. Of Pureblood origin, she also has a wonderful family history of habitual worrying and hysteria. Can you imagine those years when the whole Lavall-Midgen clan lived together during the war? Let me just say that the entire Lavall side of the family would stay up until I returned from an especially late outing…

I mentioned last time that it was Mother who had announced the defeat of Voldemort. She missed the Wizarding World, her croquet chums, Diagon Alley. One item she would not relinquish was her subscription to the _Daily Prophet_. The paper was always posted to an address about two blocks away, behind the recycling bins behind in the nearby alley. Mum usually collected a week's worth of papers and would spend all of Sunday devouring the fact and fiction the Prophet published. Pa was always concerned that either the Ministry or Death Eaters would uproot us from our comfortable flat.

Within the next month – June 1998 – Mum had orchestrated a move back to the Wizarding World to a nice, large manor to house our large number of relatives. Behind my father's back, actually. The fight that ensued when he found out was terrible, but eventually he warmed up to the idea of bringing Muggle medicinal practices to St. Mungo's. I, a _Muggle_, decided not to return, much to my mum's disappointment.

(_Pauses, as if collecting her thoughts_) As I said, Mum visited today. Since my flat is not connected to the Wizarding Floo system and I had Pa and Grandfather cast Anti-Apparition wards as well, Mum always has to take the Muggle way to visit, much to her irritation. She visits occasionally, and each visit goes the same way. This visit was no exception.

First is the perfunctory glance around the living area and kitchen. With a sniff of disdain, she brings out her wand and tidies the rooms into sparkling, white order. Mum _always_ pauses at the dirty dishes in the sink. "Eloise, you are letting germs accumulate."

"I was going to put them in the dishwasher tonight. Putting in a full load conserves water, Mum."

"Why can't you just use a spell?" Insert a frown at this point. "It is _much_ faster and cleans more effectively. Is it that you do not know the spell? Really, it's simple. Where is that book of household spells I gave you?" She, of course, already knows where it is and extracts the large dusty volume from the top shelf of my coat closet. "Gathering dust, of course," she snorts. She expertly turns to the page. "There we go, dear. A little practice and you will be in tip-top shape, no time." Mum fixes me with a piercing stare. "Your wand, Eloise? Where is it?"

"Around," I say vaguely. "I think it's with the ancient microwave in the guest room… maybe… Er, want me to get it?" I usually tend to play a little senseless. My wand is actually under my bed. Somewhere.

Mum sighs, closes the book and pulls me by the shoulder to the sofa. "Darling, it worries me how you avoid using magic. You are a witch – it's in your blood and you can't get rid of it. Why do you live as a Muggle? In the Wizarding World, life is much easier… Even your father has warmed up to the fact."

I interrupt, "Mum, Pa is getting _old_. Magic makes things easier for him. Besides, what is so wrong with living a normal life? You both, after all, were the ones who uprooted me from Hogwarts and implanted me in the Wizarding World. Great-aunt Mildred taught me everything else I needed to know about magic in the last few years. Just because I don't really _need_ any of it… You know I manage just fine without magic." Mum opens her mouth to speak. "I living as a normal person would… is that a problem? Is there something_ wrong_ about living as, hmm, what do you call it, a Muggle? And there is nothing wrong with a little extra hard work now and then." I was full of vitriol today. I was just getting tired of the constant nagging. I am perfectly happy without magic.

"Darling—at least hear me out—"

"I have 'heard you out' for the last two years. No means no. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go to work." Steaming with fury equal to that of a Gryffindor's, I grabbed my car keys and stormed out of the flat, nearly shutting the door on Nicholas' tale.

(_Pause_) I usually don't burst out like this. I've always been a good, pleasant-natured girl. (_Hesitant_) And… that's why I thought I would mention it? Because it was out of the ordinary?

Good Lord, I am talking in questions! (_Sigh_) There was no sign of Mum when I came home from work, but I don't know if that was a good or a bad thing… There's that, strange – or strange-for-Eloise – incident number one.

Hold on for a moment. I think I am going to brew a cup of tea and grab a pastry before continuing.

(_Recorder clicks shut for ten minutes._)

Okay, there is so much more to say. It's about work. I was shelving books in the fiction section – relatively tedious work for they are just common books and I had read most of the titles anyway. Mostly, I read during the evenings. Anyway, there I was shelving, still thinking about my annoying mother. _Heart of Darkness_ (dull, too much symbolism). _ Lolita_ (strangely interesting). I was shelving some James Patterson novel when I heard this curiously familiar voice from around the corner. I couldn't place it though. I pushed my book cart around the corner to scope things out and see if it was one of my few library chums, but there was no one there. My next thought was that I was imagining things, but then I heard it again. It was a low, male's voice. I couldn't figure out the words though.

It was then I spotted a blond-haired figure at one of the tables, with a tape recorder like mine. Except, he didn't seem to quite know how to use it. I understand completely though; these contraptions have so many buttons and a manual a foot thick that it's difficult to figure them out.

"Excuse me, sir, do you need any help?" I ventured, just really curious to place the voice. Walking towards the table, I felt a strange prickly sensation in the air. It reminded me somewhat of the Apparition wards when I walked into my flat. I shook myself out of it though – mum's visits always made me have magic on the mind for the rest of the day. The man looked up, and knocked a few of the things on his table to the floor in surprise. He had lovely grey eyes, but I won't dwell on that. "Trying to record something? You'll press the red button and speak into the side. The microphone will pick up your voice easily. The square means stop. And the arrows forward fast-forward the tape, and the arrows pointing left rewind it. A single arrow plays," I added a bit foolishly with a vague point to the buttons. I don't really talk to many people in the library, but I really wanted to figure out who he was.

"Thanks," he said a bit shortly, with a brusque nod. "Gave me a bit of a scare, though."

"Sorry," I apologised a bit hastily. "Here, let me help you—" I bent down and picked up a book (_A Who's Who of England, 90-91)_ and this silver badge with a few inscriptions on it. Curiously, I went to read the text, but it was snatched out of my hand.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't touch my things," the man interrupted snappishly. There was a pinched look about his face. He stood quickly, gathered his things – a leather satchel and a few things I couldn't see, and rushed away. I just kind of stood there, flabbergasted. Maybe I had accidentally touched some prestigious medal he just received. 'Or something,' I lamely thought at the time. It just was really strange, you know. I never thought I looked like a thug or anyone else who would steal anything. With a sigh, I had turned back to my book cart. But then I spotted a pair of stylish steel specs on the carpet. I think they were his, you know.

(_Deep breath_) The really strange thing was that when I asked Mindy at the check-out desk with the best view of the entrance, she said she didn't see anyone with that description walk out. She added that she would have to, the way I described him. (_Small laugh_) Mindy said she was a sucker for blondes. I mentioned that her current amour was a brunette and she shrugged with a wicked grin. She's incorrigible, you know.

So now I possess this mysterious pair of specs that belong to a mysterious person who disappeared mysteriously. (_Sigh_) What a mystery. I have no clue what to do with them... but I think I'll just curl up with one of my Sherlock Holmes collections for inspiration and guidance. Ta. (_Recorder clicks shut_)

-

Author's Note: A brief vacation was enough to invigorate my writing, and I've churned out this chapter way before my tentative deadline (which is really for motivational purposes). Thank you for all the lovely reviews and the concrit. Also, my dear Eloise fans, please read 'Acceptance' by inkeyes7. It's an excellent fic thus far. As usual, do review with your thoughts and other various comments!


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